


T-shirt Weather

by losingface



Series: under the thumb [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, well.. as many feelings as mason can have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingface/pseuds/losingface
Summary: Mason takes a breath. Doors he’s worked so hard to keep closed, lock, chain and key, are suddenly wide open, the summer breeze dancing over his soul where flowers begin to grow. It’s so sudden. Too sudden. Like the snap of fingers or the cock of a gun. The perfect quip followed by her smile.
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: under the thumb [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085246
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	T-shirt Weather

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!
> 
> so, here we are DLKFGKJFDGKJG... officially in the twc hole - thanks jade!
> 
> edit: this piece was written for the 31 day of wayhaven event, for day 21's prompt 'trust'. you can read it [here](https://masonsfangs.tumblr.com/post/632551464241348608/t-shirt-weather) on tumblr too!
> 
> edit edit: nate has been changed to nat for continuity reasons
> 
> apologies for any typos, please enjoy!

**

  
  


It’s too hot. Too hot to even be alive at this point.

Even outside, Mason is sure he is about to combust here and now.

It's definitely one of the hottest nights in Wayhaven he’s experienced so far. The air feels as thick as water, wrapping him up in a suffocating embrace. But, he'd much rather burn a thousand times over than freeze.

The telltale noises of a summer evening play as they sit out on the balcony. Mason sits in a deck chair, head tilted up to the sky with the all too familiar cigarette dangling from his mouth. The ends of his hair are starting to curl up where sweat sits on the back of his neck. Aimee sits in her own chair, slumped slightly with a tome Nat had insisted that she take home to read. A rickety table sits between them with an ashtray on top, smoking along with them.

The sun had said it's goodbyes a while ago, and like any other small town, the stars are out and twinkling bright above them. The traffic below doesn’t seem quite as annoying as most nights, it's dull hum running alongside the soft hiss of leaves rustling against each other in the distance.

Mason likes it here. It's not as high up as the roof at the warehouse, it's not as quiet… or private either... but it has its own perks.

Aimee sits up in her chair suddenly, trying to get comfortable. He can feel the heat radiating off of her next to him, as intrusive as the summer sun. She stretches out, all the way from her fingertips to her toes, letting her body go taut and slump back again. Mason watches as her toes move, the red painted tips spreading out a little. Even with the warm glow of the patio light behind them, he can see her squinting behind her glasses, sitting below the knot of her frustrated eyebrows as she continues to read. 

“You’re squinting.” Mason murmurs through his exhale, smoke filtering out his nose.

Aimee’s attention jerks over to him, looking shocked almost, like she had forgotten he was even there.

“I’m reading.” She says, gaze turning back to the book.

“You’ve been reading for hours.” He says.

“Awh, does someone need attention?" She says to her lap, an obvious smirk on her face.

Mason grumbles, not gracing that question with an answer but it only makes her smile harder to herself. His next motion is so quick, she doesn’t even realise he’s reaching over the table until the book is long gone from her hands and settled into his lap instead.

“Hey!” She sits up and goes to grab the book back but his quick hand finds her wrist to stop her.

Mason’s face drops into a frown, cigarette situated between the tight line of his lips.

“Imps?” He asks and smooths a hand over the page she’s been reading over and over now. “Seriously?” Ash falls from the cigarette, grey scattering over the old beige of the page.

“Careful!” Aimee wiggles out of his grip and stands. He doesn’t protest when she snatches the book back. “This is bloody well as old as you are,” Quickly she blows at the pages and the ash flutters away. “Nat would kill me.”

“Nat wouldn’t kill you.”

“Over a book she might.”

Mason chuckles, sitting up a little and watching as she dusts off the page with her fingers. The book isn’t nearly as interesting anymore. With Aimee’s frame standing before him, clad in the sleep shorts she so often favours and a t-shirt that barely makes it down to her belly button, he wonders why people even bother entertaining themselves with literature.

Mason has always preferred summer. The list as to why is very short and pretty simple. Any weather that doesn’t make him freeze his balls off is welcome and the newest addition being getting to see Aimee in as little clothing as possible these days.

With the change of season has come with some changes of his own. Not that he's realised it himself, but it's been as natural as any other cycle. This whole thing with Aimee has been… new. Once cold and standoff-ish remarks have thawed into genuine respect. The repetitive nature of the last month or so has been fun. He'll find some reason to walk her back to her car. She'll pause just before opening the door, keys jingling in her pocket as she mindlessly fiddles with them. Some kind of remark is exchanged. Her laugh echoes through the trees.

Then the silence settles. Tense. Familiar. 

It always feels offensive to break it with words. But, to Mason, the rampant thump of her quickening pulse and breath rattling between her lips is louder than anything they could utter. They both knew what happened next. Mason tucks a curl behind her ear, feigning a helping hand until her jaw is in his grip and pulling her in for the tantalising kiss that breaks the barrier every single time.

He'd draw blissful sounds out of her, the soft curl of his tongue against hers almost too much to handle after his bites and nips at the plush edges of her lips. He'd take her against the car if he could, always caught up in the heat of the moment. Lustful impulses drive him like no other force. Until he had met Aimee. 

Just as enthused as he is to get rid of their clothes, she manages to keep her cool. Where Mason revs the engine, she handles the gears. There’s no other words to describe it except for thrilling. Each time is better than the last. The dent in the wall and torn off coat hanger by the front door of her flat is evident enough, unable to even get to the bedroom that one time. 

Like Nat said, he seems to have some kind of odd attachment to her. And, for what feels like the first time in his life, (his supernatural one anyways) he has no idea how to deduce the cause of it. 

“Just put the book down.” Mason says, watching her brush down the page again. "You need a break."

"A break?" Another teasing smiles winks in and out of existence at the side of her lips. Surprisingly, she does what he says, without any more convincing and sets the book down on the table. "What kind of break?"

Mason stretches out his arms until he finds her waist and hips. She gives in before the fight, letting him drag her closer until she's sitting sideways in his lap and they're settling back into the chair. She doesn’t even argue when he takes her glasses off of her, carefully placing them on the table. He's enveloped in even more heat, adding to the sweltering summer night air already surrounding them. Her question doesn’t get an answer - but she doesn't care, their current state enough. 

They sit comfortably for a minute, no need for conversation. If Mason stares into the darkness long enough it feels as if he’s in space, the midnight speckled sky stretching into every corner of his peripheral. But, for the first time, he prefers being down on earth right now. The quiet whispers of the evening delve into almost complete silence.

A soft thump cuts through. And then another one. And another, until it's a quiet rhythmic pounding in his ears that he quickly recognises. Aimee takes a breath and her heart rate slows for a second, her inhale deep before she lets it slip away again and melts into him more. 

She turns her head a fraction, the tip of her nose grazing against his stubble ridden cheek. She leans further into him, brushing her lips against the hard line of his jaw. The comfort of his cigarette is quickly lost, as she plucks it from between his lips. She’s surprised to see he doesn’t groan or tries to snatch it back. He just watches. She holds his steely stare, trying to not completely crumble like the cigarette as she takes the last drag for him. Smoke curls in the air between them, so close it tickles against his lips before thinning into nothing.

Her shirt rides up as she stretches over to stub it out in the ashtray, exposed skin instantly drawing Mason’s attention. Moth to a flame. He instantly remembers why he tugged her into his lap in the first place, hands roaming over her hips and thighs, unashamed when his fingers poke past the waistband of her shorts and touch the hot skin she's hidden away. Aimee laughs, grabbing one of his hands that has somehow made its way onto her inner thigh.

Their attention on each other doesn’t last for too long, snapping over to a light flicking on in the apartment block parallel. They can’t see much, just a silhouette of a woman walking through a room. She keeps turning lights on as she travels further inside, arms stretching above her head as she ties her long hair up into a ponytail. Mason looks over to see a man entering too, setting what he knows is a bag on the floor. 

"Do you ever think about people?" Aimee interrupts their silence.

He grimaces. "...What?"

"Like," She purses her lips in thought, sitting up to look at him in the eye. His grip on her tightens to keep her balanced, without either of them noticing. "You ever walked past someone in the street and thought about what they're like in private?"

"Like, their sex life?" Mason chuckles.

"No,” She taps his chest, hard enough to be reprimanding but playful all the same. “Just, like… what their life is like.”

“You overestimate my interest in people.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to try though.”

He huffs, though amused. "No. Suppose not."

"Sometimes you just see someone on the street and they're kind of interesting. You wonder what they’re like. Just as a person, y’know?” Aimee continues, her gaze ducked down to where she’s fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “What their laugh is like, what their family is like -" 

"What faces they make during sex?" He chimes in, met with one of her eye rolls.

"You know what I mean."

"I guess." He says and they look over to the apartment block again, watching the silhouettes.

Their first impressions of each other weren't exactly golden, with Mason brushing her off as some doe-eyed moron, too in over her head and Aimee immediately classifying him as a brash dickhead. And it certainly didn't help that they bickered, so much even, he barely realised his normal laid back demeanor was unravelling right in front of him. 

Mason didn't understand why he had to bite back at every remark she made. Not like he needs to have the last word or anything along those lines, but with her he needed something. Their indefinable annoyance at each other revealed itself as frustration at the very last moment.

"What about when you met the others?" She asks, cocking her head.

"What about them?"

"You didn't have any initial thoughts on them?"

"My first thoughts of others tend to be too inappropriate to say out loud." Mason murmurs, turning to face her.

She grins. "Oh, yeah? What about me?"

“Was it not obvious?” He arches an eyebrow.

"Fuck you." She laughs.

"You prefer for me to lie instead?" He asks, smiling.

Aimee stares at him, that challenging glint sitting in his eyes like always. She sucks her teeth and shakes her head with a small smile too.

"What else?" Aimee questions.

"Else?"

"What else did you think when you met me." She clarifies.

He shrugs. "That you were attractive."

Aimee's eyebrows shoot up.

Mason scoffs. "What? Does that really surprise you?"

"Well, you certainly didn't show any immediate interest." She frowns. “Had to almost fall through a door for you to realise.”

"I could show you some interest right now." He smirks, his hands unashamedly caressing over her. “I could even make it real interesting for the both of us.”

"Mm," She hums and her gaze flits over to the people they were watching again. "Not until you tell me something else."

Softly, Mason grips her chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face to look at him again. The mood instantly shifts, light hearted to something more serious. Her eyes darken with an electric heat, waiting for his next words.

"I thought about what it'd be like to bend you over that desk." His voice pitches lower as his fingers stroke over her parted lips. "And what else your pretty mouth could do other than annoy me."

His words are heavy, stroking over her and ripping a shiver out of her body. He grins at the response, his fingers cupping her cheek and keeping his thumb on her lips. It's maddening. Everything about her is always dialled up to a hundred and he's tuned in whether he wants to be or not. Never has he been so affected by a human. He can feel the varying levels of heat as it permeates her body, each degree feeling better as it rises. He can feel her sweat before it even hits her skin. The rumble of a moan before it even leaves her mouth. Her orgasm before she's shaking from it herself.

"Mason -"

He cuts her off, pressing his lips to hers. No more time for talk. Her soft curls tangle in his fingers as he glides his hands up into her hair, working his hips against hers until she’s sighing into the kiss. Aimee pulls away first and, to his annoyance, keeps talking.

"Did you really think that?" She asks against his lips.

“Want me to prove it instead?” He asks, eyebrows pinched together in frustration. Aimee's laugh resonates against his lips, feeling where they're starting to shift into a smile.

“Is that an offer?” She counters.

“You don’t want to?”

In the heat of his stare she is painfully lost, trying to come up with words. She shifts, making them both groan as she straddles him on the chair instead. His hands settle on her hips, beginning to line with sweat where they’re touching, heat between them finally delving into the type that they prefer. The roll of her hips forces a soft grunt out of him, fingers sinking deeper into her skin to urge her on.

“I didn’t say no.” She answers.

“You talk too much.” He murmurs, teasing her bottom lip with his teeth.

“Just waiting for you to make your move, sunshine.”

"Say yes, then." He mutters, gripping and pulling at her hair to expose her throat. The moan that leaves her vibrates against his mouth as he runs the edges of his lips against her neck, just barely tasting the salt on her skin.

Her next teasing words leave her lungs in a gust of breath.

"It's okay. I trust you.”

Mason slows his movement, that dull, agonisingly good friction turns into nothing but pure frustration. She groans at the loss, rocking her hips again but his hands find her middle to keep her still. She blinks at him, more perplexed than surprised to find his stare is already set on her own. 

Those words… just hearing them is -

Mason takes a breath. Doors he’s worked so hard to keep closed, lock, chain and key, are suddenly wide open, the summer breeze dancing over his soul where flowers begin to grow. It’s so sudden. Too sudden. Like the snap of fingers or the cock of a gun. The perfect quip followed by her smile. 

“What’s wrong?” She kisses him, her words ghosting over his lips.

“Nothing.” He just barely shakes his head, not wanting to look away from her.

The air shifts as the table holding the ashtray, book and her glasses crashes to the ground with how fast he stands up. Neither of them care, too caught up in each other. Aimee yelps, surprised as Mason rushes so quickly to his feet, lifting her up with him so effortlessly. There’s not even a second thought as their lips meet, her legs wrapping around him, barely aware he’s already carried her inside and halfway to the bedroom.

  
  


**

  
  


She doesn’t know how it happens. She never really does. One moment it’s all talk and sly smiles and the next their bare skin is sliding against each other, his name in the shape of a moan rolling off her tongue and onto his. 

Orgasm number one finds her ass up on the bed, wrists secured to a headboard slat with Mason kneeling behind her. All she can do is moan and quake, pleasure being pulled from her and ending up as a mess on his lips and tongue.

“Mason -”

She blinks, trying to rid the bleariness in her vision and focus in front of her. Mason doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip on her thighs, letting his tongue slide against her wet folds. Light and feathery, careful not to over stimulate her too quickly. Aimee can just about feel it and it makes her eyes roll back. Fucking, _Mason_ , jesus.

She’s not normally been one for teasing. Has always gotten bored fast. She often found she had to will herself to get turned on again if people try to show off their prowess with teasing. There’s a certain reporter's name that comes to mind, but she’s too distracted by the one she’s moaning out right now.

But recently, the drawn out moments with Mason feel a thousand times better than anything she can compare it to. Their whole relationship, if you can call it that, had been one big tease until they finally cracked. And right now, she’s wet as fuck, completely flushed and shivering from the most gentle of touches.

She can’t think. Can only focus in front of her. She stares at her wrists, Mason's stupid belt securing her to one of the posts. Damnit. She can’t even see him. Can’t do anything but writhe and thrash, secured in place by Mason’s fingers digging into her flesh and restraint on her wrists. She can sort of talk though, and she tries, between the startled noises escaping from her. 

Mason groans as her thighs give out on her, making her slide back and rut on his face. But, he just pushes her up and back in place, getting his tongue on her again for more. The next hard lap of Mason’s tongue makes her melt, arching her back and almost bucking him off. He digs his hands into her thighs harder, biting into the flesh just below the swell of her ass. A little warning.

“Keep still.” He breathes against her cunt, making her even more restless.

Aimee tries to chill out. She really does. But she can’t and she really doesn’t care, she’s strung so tight. She is about ready to snap again when Mason presses a quick kiss to her thigh before working his tongue against her again, spreading out the prettiest pussy he's ever had the pleasure of eating out. It's too good. She desperately needs Mason’s dick where his mouth is, she wants to cry.

“Fuck, _fuck_ -” She starts, her voice is ragged and wet. “Please. I want you to fuck me.” She whimpers, knowing he won’t give in just yet - but she begs anyway. “Oh, _god_ . Please, _please_ \- do it -”

And he doesn't listen. Of course he doesn't. There's nothing in the world that can stop him from making her run her pretty mouth more. Every moan, gasp and whine shakes through her like the clang of a church bell in the early morning air. He can feel every one of her words against his tongue where his face is buried between her legs.

All the sensations are building up, brewing into something deeper that Aimee is not sure she will be able to handle. Everything is dialling down to a pulsing thrum of _want_ and _need_. The noises she makes grow louder, starting deep and low in her chest, finally melting into a high-pitched, embarrassing whine as it rushes past her lips. She whines even louder when Mason removes himself all together, his body heat leaving her alone.

"Oh, _god_ -" She forgets her hands are tied, trying to move but stops short, staying in place.

"Still here." He murmurs before laying his tongue flat against the dip of her back. 

His words are rich and heavy in reassurance, making Aimee relax instantly. She sighs as he sucks at her skin for a split second, smearing sloppy kisses up to her shoulders. Slowly, he lets his body weight settle over her, hooking his chin over her shoulder and pressing their cheeks together. Even the scrape of his beard feels good. She makes an irritated noise, causing him to let out a low chuckle.

"Frustrated?" He asks.

"Something like that." She lets out a breath and one of her curls flies up into the air away from her face.

"Mm," He bites at her shoulder. "You're easy to wind up."

"No, I'm not -"

" _So_ easy."

"Jesus, just -- _c'mon -"_ She can't take much more of this. 

"C'mon, what?"

"You gonna keep running your mouth or are you gonna fuck me?"

He lets out a low laugh. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe if you asked nicely."

“I _swear_ -” She tries to move again. “When I get this bleeding thing off -”

“You’ll what?”

A silence is inspired from them both as he skims his fingers from her hips, all the way down her arms and touching the belt holding her. The drag of his fingers is so delicate, she's not even sure it's actually happening, until his hands come into view. Aimee blinks rapidly, watching his fingers painstakingly work the belt loose. They share a hum as her hands gently rest on the bed. Her arms wobble slightly as she holds her shoulders up, settling on all fours and pressing up against his hot skin above her.

Mason carefully moves her hair to one side, the soft spirals falling past her shoulder. His touch lingers on the back of her neck for a moment, eyes glued to where goosebumps begin to rise. The reminder of Murphy is still present, pale scars against bronze. His lips latch onto the imperfect skin, gently running his tongue over, feeling a shiver race through her body before it leaves her in a gasp.

His fingers glide down her arms, gently kneading into her skin the closer his hands get to her wrists. He presses a small kiss to the shell of her ear. Still here. It's making his brain swim how the width of his shoulders and length of his legs covers hers. How his fingers cover hers. His everything to her everything. Maybe not her butt though. But he likes that.

She turns her head, pressing her face into his cheek, mouth open and wet against him. They both groan when she rolls her hips back again, his cock sliding against the curve of her ass.

"Please -- fuck me." She breathes into his skin, punctuating her words as she presses her ass back again.

He does.

And, when he fucks her, _god_ , he fucks her good. Not fast. Just deep and slow and hard when he wants to, letting his hips roll against hers, making all the muscles in his back and arms tense as he concentrates.

Mason's crowded her up against the headboard, the need to be as close as possible turned desperate. Holding her flush against him, he has a hand on her waist and the other on her face, spreading her legs with his knees as wide as he can. If he weren't holding her up he's sure she would collapse in a heap right here. Her spit is webbing between his fingers where they're shoved in her mouth, beginning to smear over her chin too. 

When he slips them out, and trails his fingers down, the drool follows. It smears over her neck and chest until he finally reaches between her legs, giving her no time to recover from the previous bliss as he starts working her again for number two.

They're shameless, letting the bed rock and thud on the wall in time with the roll of their movements. He feels so good inside her, hard and hot, striking all the sweet spots perfectly that she's seeing stars. The euphoric thump of her heartbeat overtakes him in a way he doesn't realise, so in sync with her that his body works in tandem to the rhythm of her pulse. Everything he wants, does, feels, is directly related to her. Nothing has ever felt so good. There's no intruding noise at the back of his mind, no itch on his skin, no sour taste on his lips. It's all her.

"Shit -" The deep and gravelly nature of Mason's voice sends her insides into a spiral. Even more so than usual with his lips pressed tight up against her ear, the low rumble of his words breaking apart any thought she's able to conjure up in this state. "Oh, god, feel so good, sweetheart. So good for me." 

"Fuck, please - please I want it," She babbles, her hands flailing for purchase and finding the edge of the headboard.

"Please what?" He grunts into her skin.

"More," She adds to the end of a groan. "More, please." 

Oh, fuck. He likes those words. Especially from her. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you." He presses his lips to her neck, smearing kisses up to behind her ear.

"I - Mason, oh fuck -"

He drags her away from the headboard, so swift, still fully hilted inside of her. Her shoulders fall to the mattress and before she can situate herself, her hair is tangled into his tight fist. She tries to rest on her arms, but can only groan as her chest presses against the mattress, cutting off her air. Her back arches, cat-like and sultry, pushing her up into him even more. Choked moans leave her as he circles his hips, feeling every perfect inch of him.

"Harder -" Her gasp turns to a strangled grunt.

The word barely leaves her mouth as Mason brutally starts to pound into her. He always knows what she wants before she does herself and she loves that he never second guesses it. Her noises turn guttural, as if she is the creature instead. Mason almost loses himself in that moment, everything about her blankets him and cages him in bliss. Her body heat clings to his skin and her moans trickle into his ears. He's barely aware of how much he wants more of it.

"God, look at you," He rests a hand between her shoulders, keeping his fingers splayed out so she's pinned beneath him. 

Trapped. His. 

"So good. So fucking pretty, taking my cock so well, sweetheart." He says, lungs heaving from their effort.

His hand glides down the centre of her back, falling past her hips and grabs a handful of flesh before striking a hard slap against her backside. She jerks from the contact, a blissed out cry slicing between her low moans. It only spurs him on, the hold in her hair tightening.

But, it's not enough. Never enough. 

Whether it be selfishness or obsession, Mason can't decide, he just needs more. The look on her face as she admitted those words to him earlier is burnt into his conscience. Anyone stronger would've delved further and had the conversation about what this relationship actually means. How they feel. What they want.

Mason's never uttered any words that carry that type of weight. Why has the urge arrived so suddenly? The least he can do is try to show it - he knows he's good at that.

Aimee just about cries as he painfully slows his pace, just barely rocking his hips until he pulls away completely. It doesn't last long. Her back meets the bed. Her eyes meet his. Fiery brown to stormy grey. His skin meets hers. Lips desperate. Hands scrambling. Moans lost. It's electric.

He manages to get her legs wrapped around him, situated high on the broad stretch of his shoulders. The dark waves of his hair trickle past his shoulders in messy strands, framing not just him but her too, enclosing them in an even more intimate space.

"Tell me if it's too much," He murmurs, capturing her lips just as he rolls his hips forward and sinks into her again. Aimee responds in the most delicious moan against his mouth, he wishes he could sink his teeth into it. It's the only sound that doesn't pierce harshly at his senses. "Or tell me how much you like it - or love it -" He grunts with a smile threatening at his lips, giving her a slow pump. "Either is good for me."

Aimee's laugh ricochets between a moan. "You'll have to earn it." She jibes.

Mason growls with a grin, snapping his hips into her just as heated as before. Lost in their movement and touch, he can't do anything but try to hold onto that last piece of himself, barely aware of how close he really is. How close he is to handing everything over. 

He can’t stop staring, watching her face as she just takes it and loving every piece of pleasure that's drawn out. And she stares back, keeping their eyes heatedly locked. They grow rough and restless, out of desperation more than anything, until she can't focus anymore. Her glassy eyes begin to roll back, gasps becoming increasingly more laboured the harder he fucks her. 

She arches up to meet him and Mason moans, a touch louder than he normally would, feeling her lips stretch into a grin against his. It only makes him more rabid, their bodies crashing together even more carelessly. Her nails sink into the muscle of his arms, trying to not completely lose it. But, he doesn't let up, keeping her pinned there as he slams home.

"Holy -- _fuck_ -" She chokes, her hands flying up to push against the headboard for leverage instead.

Sensation rockets through her, every inch of her body filled with what can only be described as euphoria. Mason keeps slamming into her, hard and deep, exactly where she needs him. She bucks against him as she comes again, fighting his grip but wanting to stay in his arms for however long he allows it. 

Beautiful and delicate like honeycomb, she breaks apart and melts in his hands, spilling out the sweetest of sweet. Purest of pure. It is pure delirium, just to watch her unravel right beneath him.

"Don't, don't stop -" Her eyes stay on his. "Please don't stop. Want you."

He wants it too, god, she has no idea how much he wants it. The high he so desperately chases is no longer a desire but an unstoppable compulsion. The nonsense she's spilling into his mouth makes his rhythm falter and he reciprocates, ooh's and ahh's falling into hers.

"Oh, fuck -- _shit_ -"

"Yes, _yes_ -" She threads her fingers into his hair, grip tight and forces him to look at her. "Please, Mason -"

It's her endless chanting of pleases and his name that finally sends him over the edge. Everything tightens, stamina finally on its last legs. With his own strangled grunt, he meets his own end, gaze locked with hers until his eyes flutter shut. The entirety of his body shudders, desire rocking him so hard. He is barely hanging on by a thread. Or maybe a belt in their case. 

Blood rushes to his ears, blocking out the world to just this moment between them. All he can do is groan, circling his hips as he rides it out, hitting the deepest parts inside of her until she's crying out too and begging for him to ease up.

Oh, god it's so good. Too good. Trapped in a state he never wants to break free from.

Then it happens again. That silence. Just the sound of their harsh pants fill the room. 

By the time he regains some composure, soft noises are trailing off her tongue in a whisper over and over, like a prayer. Her fingers remain tangled into the slick strands of his hair sticking to his neck, stroking sweetly.

" _Mason… Mason -"_

A kiss _\- the_ kiss - cuts her off. The kiss to truly end the idea that all they're doing these days is fucking. The terrified thud of his heartbeat rattles inside of him, worried that if he doesn’t stop her onslaught of babbling that his own will spill out too. It’s bound to cause something permanent whether he is prepared for it or not. It’s intimate - and softer than anything he's done - baring the most tender feelings he doesn't even realise are there. The phrase blind as a bat feels all too ironic.

A groan rumbles from her as she lowers her legs down to the bed, making him chuckle. When he shuffles away, he places a hand on her hip, keeping them steady as he pulls out. Aimee gasps from the pressure, a sudden ache and emptiness that she doesn't want. Much doesn't register after that, body and mind floating on a mess of emotion and post-coital bliss.

Sore, she grimaces and then snickers, realising she's lying in what she thinks is a wet patch. She can feel heat pulsing over her, some spots hotter than others that she will definitely be poking at tomorrow morning. The idea of moving is long gone as sleep begins to wrestle with her. She’s pretty much done with consciousness. 

Just on the edge of drifting off, she feels the mattress shift with Mason slowly getting up from the bed. Just before he pushes himself up, she throws an arm out and gently grabs at him. He meets her eyes, gaze quickly trailing along her arm and finishing where her fingers are holding onto him. She catches the split-second his eyes narrow.

"Stay." She murmurs with a half-lidded stare.

Mason stares back, mesmerised. He's never fallen victim for her tired smiles and sleepy words before, but, as it stands, he can feel the cliff edge at his feet and the drop that is going to proceed. Whether he falls or takes the jump himself is still up for debate. The trust he reserves for his judgement is quickly slipping away.

Her hand falls as he moves again. Silently, he gets up, sensing her tired eyes glued to his back as he makes his way to the bathroom. By the time he returns, she’s fast asleep. She’s facing away from him, tangled with the sheets in a tight bundle with her knees almost up to her chin.

He looks to the floor, discarded clothes a mess at his feet and then back to the bed. He feels as if something huge settles itself in his chest.

He just can’t figure out what.

  
  


**

  
  


The rush that disrupts Aimee's sleep almost hurls her out of bed. She bolts upright, grabbing at her chest to be met with sweat and a red hot heat.

Another nightmare.

It was always the same. The dark and damp corridors of whatever facility Murphy had taken her to were never ending, taunting her with hopeful stretches of concrete, only for them to split off into another direction. No matter which turn or corner she took, it always led back to him. She could only stand there and stare. Cold. Afraid. Paralyzed. There was never a way out, never a -

Aimee tenses. Then her nose wrinkles. 

The familiar, and weirdly comforting, smell of smoke cuts through the room. She can barely see in the dark, but it’s lit up just enough by the muted moonlight piercing through the closed blinds and painting the room with cosmic white stripes.

On the nightstand sits the book she was reading earlier out on the balcony. Carefully balanced on top are her glasses and the ashtray. Delicate, thin plumes of smoke dance in the air just above it from a put out cigarette.

Being half-asleep, _weird_ , is all she can seem to think up.

When she lies back down, trying to get back into a comfortable position, she almost startles out of her skin, coming into contact with some that is not her own. She turns to see the freckles of Mason's back lit up, half covered by her duvet, hair more of a mess than it normally is all over her pillows. 

She has to blink a few times, not certain whether she's still in a dream. A deep sigh leaves him. No. Definitely not a dream. It looks so… foreign. She tilts her head, no idea what to make of it - especially when his voice cuts through the room.

"If you stare at me any harder you’re gonna give yourself a headache." He grumbles, so low it's barely audible.

Aimee doesn’t take it in. There are a few tense, drawn out seconds before he feels her fingers grazing over his arm. This time, he’s the one being dragged in, not even thinking about it until he’s on his back and she's flush up against him. Naked skin touches in places that should be familiar but now feels weirdly new.

And then just like that they're kissing, sharing each other's breath on the brink of sleep.

You would think, after all the times they’ve done this, the hours and minutes and seconds they spent lost in each other, that Mason would know all there was to Aimee’s kiss. This is very new, feeling almost reminiscent, but he can’t remember a time she has been so gentle. It's scary and calming all at once.

“You stayed.” She murmurs.

Mason nods after a beat of silence. “I know.”

“You never stay.” She says, matter-of-factly, running a finger over the freckles dotted on his shoulder.

He can’t tell if it’s the summer evening heat or something else that makes his skin begin to burn. “Yeah, I know.” He nods again.

Her exasperated smile makes his chest constrict. The last thing he hears from her is the gentle lilt of her tired laugh before she shifts and turns away. With a heavy sigh, she is almost instantly gone to the world and lost to sleep.

He doesn’t think about how she tugs the duvet up further, denying him a look at what he had worshipped earlier on. There are no thoughts at all, disconnected as he willingly surrenders to this nameless force. He’s always valued his space and now for some reason he feels himself wanting to seek her out. All he can do is stare, wondering whether to cross the line.

“I don’t have hyper senses but I can feel you staring too.” She says suddenly.

Her comment ends with a laugh, growing louder as Mason scowls and mutters something under his breath, turning away again. He gives up trying to pretend, surrendering to the smirk that spreads across his face.

He trusts that she’ll put many more there soon. He just has to let her.

  
  


**

**Author's Note:**

> hiii, hope y'all enjoyed 🥴
> 
> to my cc gals i love u all!!! thank you for being amazing!
> 
> kudos, comments, shouting at me on twitter @l0singface or tumblr @losingface is always highly appreciated! sometimes i draw things and post them too!!
> 
> thank you for reading 🖤


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